


from your sacred vials, pour your graces

by Nemainofthewater



Category: Winter's Tale - Shakespeare
Genre: 15th Century, Arranged Marriages, Canon Compliant, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, Love, Misunderstandings, Multi, Politics, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Yuletide 2020, taking advantage of canon's liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28136385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: In which Polixenes, Hermione, and Leontes get marriedand it doesn't change anything.set pre, during, and post canon.
Relationships: Hermione/Leontes/Polixenes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	from your sacred vials, pour your graces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThebanSacredBand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/gifts).



> Dear ThebanSacredBand, I hope that you enjoy this fic! It is canon compliant and takes place before, during, and after canon. Although there is angst here, there is also a happy ending, and I hope that you enjoy it!

It started thus :

Once there were three friends of pure and noble standing.

Leontes, youngest Prince of Sicilia, was the shining jewel of the kingdom, the pride of both nobles and commoners alike. As a younger son, he was not expected to take on the heavier duties of his elder siblings and therefore found himself content to while away his days in pleasure and peace. Known for his skill with the bow and his quick and lively manner, he was saved only from that curse of the spoilt youngest child through the grace of his friendship with the Lady Hermione of Naples.

Hermione in public was the epitome of womanly virtues; meek, of unimpeachable breeding, able to play two instruments, her embroidery stitches neat and perfectly even, her riding skills able to rival the Prince’s own. A scion of one of the noble houses of Naples, she and Leontes had been betrothed since birth in yet another attempt to rein in the hostility between their kingdoms, to sooth the hurts inflicted upon the sundering of the kingdoms upon King Alfonso of Aragon’s decision to gift one to his illegitimate child and the other to his brother.

Many attempts had been made over the years as Sicilia silently seethed at the audacity of Naples- this younger sibling which refused to return to its benevolent aegis- with this betrothal but the latest. Therefore, from a young age, Leontes and Hermione had endured innumerable polite meetings as their elders glared at one another behind the civil mask of diplomacy.

Had it stopped at these thinly veiled grudge matches, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps the fate of the world- or at least the fate of Sicilia- would have been altered. But it did not.

Hermione of Naples was a woman unafraid to hide behind societal conventions. She was also a woman unwilling to marry someone she had not properly met.

And so, with the reluctant help of her noble cousin Polixenes of Bohemia- who Hermione knew was a secret romantic and was therefore incredibly taken with her plan even if he wouldn’t admit it to her- she managed to ‘coincidentally’ meet the second prince while wandering through one of Sicilia’s many orange groves. 

Said noble cousin, Polixenes of Bohemia, was the second son of a cadet branch of Bohemia’s (current) ruling house. His reputation painted him as gentle and respectful, more likely to be found in his family’s extensive libraries than at the training ground. Only one person knew that the texts that he so assiduously studied were not thick religious tomes or dull military treatises but were instead stories of courtly love. Stories which a younger Polixenes had been too slow to hide from Hermione’s watchful gaze in his youth, which had led to a tentative friendship between the two of them, quiet evenings in the library under the watchful eyes of Brother Jonathan.

Though in truth the two of them were only distantly related in the way that all nobles tended to be, that did not stop Hermione’s warmth and affection and claims of kinship. The words and sentiments were given freely and often, yet Polixenes treasured each one like a precious jewel.

There had been something between them, something small and sweet and carefully unacknowledged. Hermione was betrothed. Polixenes was a younger son of an unimportant family, so far from his family’s regard that he was permitted to leave his country of birth for months, and occasionally, years at a time. There could never be anything between them, and therefore they did not speak of it. The most that Polixenes permitted himself was the composition of some truly terrible poetry about Sir Lancelot’s doomed love toward Queen Guinevere, and that was easily disposed of.

Still, that meant that when Hermione asked him to accompany her on her voyage to Sicilia to meet her betrothed, no one had thought anything of it (though there had been the occasional and easily ignored, mocking look from the other boys). And indeed, in the deepest and most shameful part of Polixenes’ heart, he had hoped that once Hermione finally met her betrothed then it would all be over. That either her family or Leontes’ would finally stop this passive game of one-upmanship and admit that no one liked this betrothal. That Hermione would be set free to love whomever she so desired.

Alas, all of Polixenes’ half-formed and hazy dreams of their future together shattered in that one moment in the orange grove. 

For Eros’ arrow had hit true; when Leontes locked eyes with Hermione- hair unbound and surrounded by the white, waxy orange blossoms, so far removed from the prim and proper young mistress that attended their official meetings- he paled until Polixenes feared that he would have to catch the older man, and then he blushed. Hermione, for her part, smiled back at him and Polixenes felt something stir in his chest, something sharp and cold and desolate. He smiled through the feeling, sitting quietly and calmy through the stuttered (re)introductions. What else could one do but rejoice in true love’s happiness?

  
#

“Polixenes!” Leontes called, waving at the younger man. “Come, join me!”

Leontes had not had much interaction with Polixenes. Oh, he had seen him hovering in the background numerous times, determinedly reading his book and Not Looking at the soft conversations that he and his _betrothed_ (and a part of Leontes still flushed in pleasure at this thought) engaged in, just a hair too close to each other to be truly within the bounds of propriety. 

For that tact alone, Leontes would have been in his debt and would have wanted to know more of the man. This Polixenes who was also his Hermione’s best friend. This Polixenes whom, on the rare occasion that Leontes was able to look up and catch his eyes, seemed incredibly lonely.

Perhaps Leontes was a fool, but he could not stand the idea. He himself was in the first throes of true love- unlooked for and unexpected, a gift from the Heaven’s and from dearest Hermione that he could never repay- and wanted to see all around him just as happy. Was that wrong? Was that not his prerogative as the beloved second Prince of Sicily to banish all heartbreak and sorrow from his kingdom? Or failing that, at the very least banish it from Polixenes. And if he was to help his newfound cousin- for Hermione was his and he hers, which meant that all that was hers was his, including her cousin- then he would first have to learn of him. Other than his seeming enjoyment of books, for though he had never seen Polixenes without one in his time in Sicilia, Leontes was also acutely aware that this passion was not one that he could share. Not with his wife-to-be, and certainly not with his bookish new cousin.

Hunting though… Upon ~~interrogating~~ questioning his Hermione’s retinue he had found that Polixenes was deemed a skilled archer, despite not often being seen in the training grounds. Hermione herself had confirmed the fact, and so Leontes was determined that his cousin join him for a private hunt.

“Ah,” Polixenes replied, looking up at him from his book, a faint furrow on his brow as he took in the sight of Leontes, dressed in his hunting leathers and leading two horses by the reins. “Your Highness, I regret to inform you that Lady Hermione is unavailable today-”

Leontes hummed in agreement. His fair Hermione liked to take the third day of the week to catch up on her correspondence, sending her letters to what felt like all the corners of Christendom and beyond. Normally, Polixenes would be with her, but Hermione had told him the previous evening- lowly over the game of chess that they were playing under the same man’s watchful eyes!- that she would endeavour to send Polixenes out for the day. Leontes had not bothered to hide his excitement at the news; only barely remembering his manners and refraining from kissing her right there and then.

Polixenes blinked at Leontes’ good humour, and then continued onward: “-so I am afraid that she will not be able to join your hunt, and that therefore my services as chaperone will not be needed. Perhaps tomorrow would suit your Highness instead-?”

“Alas, it will not,” Leontes said, leaning down and pulling a bemused Polixenes up from his seat. “Indeed, if I do not hunt today, I do believe I shall find myself in the foulest of moods, one that would shame me were I to expose my dearest Hermione to it. Therefore, cousin, I beseech you in the name of our shared affection for the lady Hermione- hunt with me today.”

Polixenes looked at him for one long moment before something in his expression softened. He gently shut his book, using a long blade of grass as a bookmark.

“How could I refuse when his Highness has made such a compelling argument?” he asked, something not quite a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Leontes grinned back at him, the warm thrill of victory coursing through his veins. “You’ll find that all arguments are compelling and that all my ideas are good ones,” he said cheerfully, swinging himself up onto his horse, “and in that vein, you should call me Leontes and I shall call you Polixenes. For I know that we are going to be the best of friends.”

#

“I don’t understand what the problem is, cousin,” Hermione said, frowning down at the letter in her hand. It was an elegantly written missive from one of her numerous acquaintances, bemoaning the price of turmeric, which had found itself in scarce supply these past few months. When taken in conjunction with the letter that another friend had sent her about the rising prices of silk this season, Hermione was apprehensive that there had been trouble along the Silk Road, either through poor trade or through banditry. She would have to enquire further.

“The _problem,_ Hermione”, Polixenes said, all propriety forgotten as he lay collapsed on the floor, “is that I don’t know what your lord husband hopes to gain from these endeavours!”

“He’s not my husband yet,” Hermione corrected, though she couldn’t stop the most unbecoming sense of glee that ran through her at the sound. Husband. _Husband._

“Close enough,” Polixenes said. “Whether married now or in the next three years, it makes no difference. I have been your chaperone long enough to know that you are sickeningly in love with one another. The entire court knows that you’re sickeningly in love with one another. Sicilia and Naples have both sworn to see this marriage through, and I am fairly certain that should either of you break your betrothal at this point there will be war. You are functionally married, if not yet in the eyes of God.”

Hermione, long used to her friend’s fits of melancholy and romanticism, didn’t say anything, merely hummed in acknowledgement and reached down to gently pat Polixenes’ head, her eyes still fixed upon her letters. Polixenes resentfully melted into her touch, closing his eyes to better luxuriate in the feeling.

“Leontes already has you,” he finally muttered into the silent room. “He has the approval of all who matter, chief among them you. Why then does he insist on going hunting with me?”

“He enjoys hunting,” Hermione said mildly, “and he enjoys your company.”

“Fie!” Polixenes said, sitting bolt upright and starting to pace around the room. “Hunting! Of course he enjoys hunting; even in Bohemia I heard of this Prince’s athleticism, his honour, his commitment to this noble sport. I had discounted those as rumour, or perhaps as the inevitable flattery that sticks to princes as barnacles to a ship but no! He is indeed as accomplished as the gossips say!”

“Do you have a point to this monologue?” Hermione asked. “Or are your words a mere recitation of Leontes’ virtues?”

“I had a point, Hermione,” Polixenes replied, “though I fear that I lost it somewhere along the way. Suffice to say, I do not understand why Leontes would choose to hunt with _me_ when there are others who could accompany him. Others who would spend their fortunes to accompany him, sell their souls to Satan himself for a single glimpse or a kind word from him… I had thought that he sought to gain my favour, in my position as your chaperone so as to gain _your_ favour but- Your favour has been gained. Why then does he continue?”

Polixenes span around when he heard the soft strains of Hermione’s laughter.

“What is this?” he asked. “Here I come, seeking advice and company from my dearest friend, and all I receive in return is this mockery?”

“Forgive me,” Hermione finally said after one long minute of laughter. Her cheeks were flushed with colour and her eyes were glittering with suppressed tears of mirth. “I do not mean to make light of your complaints, but… for all your books and your Romantic nature, you are truly blind in some ways.”

Polixenes made a spluttered noise of protest that Hermione ignored. Instead she rose from her table and carefully took him in her arms, paying no mind to the high pitched wheeze that escaped his lips and the way that he immediately froze.

“Have you considered,” she said instead, “that Leontes invites you on hunts because he enjoys your company? That he chooses to seek you out, not for my sake, but for your own merits? Of which there are many.”

“Hermione- my lady- cousin-” Polixenes spluttered, “what are you- we shouldn’t- _why-_ ”

When Polixenes was 5, he had been invited to his cousin’s house on the grounds that two boys of a similar age and a similar social rank would naturally get along. It was while he was there that he had seen the rabbits that his cousin had kept, arge and fluffy and absolutely terrified. Trembling whenever his cousin had taken them out to play, absolutely still beneath his too-rough hands. Later, Polixenes had learnt that rabbits could die of fright.

In this moment he very much felt like that rabbit.

Only… not. Because despite his fear and confusion regarding what exactly in the name of the Blessèd Virgin Mary was happening to him, Hermione’s warm arms around him also made him feel… loved. Blessed. Honoured.

Perhaps he was not a rabbit after all, but a pigeon. A pigeon in that shining one moment between being let out of its cage for the first time and being killed by a hawk. Polixenes in that moment lived in the liminal space between elation and terror.

And then the door opened, and terror won out.

“Your Highness!” he said, for it was indeed Leontes- hair shining like the finest burnished copper and looking akin to Apollo incarnate- arriving for his daily tea with Hermione, “I promise you that this is not what it looks like-”

“Oh?” Leontes asked, walking over to where the pair of them were still embracing despite Polixenes frantic (and perhaps futile) efforts to pull himself awa and pretend that nothing had happened. “That is indeed disappointing. Wife-to-be, did you not say that you would speak to our noble cousin this day?”

“Husband-to-be, I did indeed,” Hermione answered, accepting Leontes’ chaste kiss to her forehead with a pleased hum, “yet I believe that this is a task that we must perform together, all three of us, lest our words be misheard and our meaning lost.”

“Meaning?” Polixenes asked, finally managing to pull himself away and staring at both Leontes and Hermione as though they had lost their wits, “What is this meaning you speak of? For that matter, what _conversation_ Hermione? I do not remember talking of anything that could make _this-_ ” he made a helpless gesture encompassing the three of them, “any clearer!”

“What did you speak of then, Hermione?” Leontes asked, wrapping his arms around her in turn.

“Why we spoke of you, my Lord,” Hermione replied, leaning back against him. “Of your hunting skills, your honour, the fact that men- and women too!- would sell their souls for a single smile of yours-”

Polixenes’ face flushed bright red, and he cursed his fair skin as he glared at Hermione, who ignored him. Leontes looked at him and Polixenes blushed even harder and quickly lowered his head.

It was unfortunate, he thought absently, that he was going to have to change his name and flee in disgrace after this. Perhaps if he grovelled sufficiently in his last letter to his family before he disappeared, his mother would be so kind as to send his library along with him in his exile. It would give him something to do in between sessions staring out blankly at the horizon and regretting all of his life choices.

“My Lord, my lady,” Polixenes interrupted before either Hermione could embarrass him further or Leontes could banish him, “I shall take my leave.” He gave a short bow and started to make his way to the door.

“Leave?” Hermione said, her tone shocked but her smile amused, “and expose us to the gossip of the court? For shame, letting us tarry here without our chaperone! However will our reputations recover?”

“Your reputation is already stained, madame,” Polixenes replied, edging nearer the door and inwardly cursing as Leontes shifted just enough that he would have to brush past him on the way out.

“So it is,” Leontes said genially. “Then, if my reputation is already painted so black, then perhaps this will not unduly tarnish it.”

Saying so he let go of Hermione- with one last kiss pressed to her hair- and gently approached Polixenes, who once again froze uncertain of what was happening. Despite his jovial demeanour, there was something soft and vulnerable in his eyes.

“I hope that you will forgive me for this,” he murmured, leaning closer and closer until Polixenes could smell the faintest hint of old sweat and sandalwood. Leontes hesitated for a moment, glancing at Polixenes as though looking for a sign. And then slowly, giving the other man time to back away should he will it, he pressed a gentle kiss upon Polixenes’ brow, a twin to the one that he had greeted Hermione with.

It burned like a brand, spreading its fire throughout Polixenes’ entire body until he could feel the heat even in his fingertips.

And then it was Hermione who was coming toward him. She slipped her hand in Leontes’ and gave Polixenes a fond smile before leaning forward and pressing her gentle kiss to his forehead. Whether by design or by coincidence, her lips traced over the exact same spot as Leontes’.

“I hope that this is not unwanted,” she said quietly. “If it is, say the word and we can return to being friends and nothing more.”

Polixenes looked between the two of them. Leontes and Hermione, who were to be married and who fit together in a way that just wasn’t fair considering that they were a political match. Hermione and Leontes whom Polixenes…

Polixenes had accepted that he loved Hermione and that they could never be together. Had accepted that there was _something_ within him that flared hot and longing when Leontes stared at him with that joyful grin. He had accepted the longing unobtainable as something that was now part of his life. He had even written (and immediately burnt) several mediocre poems. He had accepted his lot in life. But now? Now…

Both Hermione and Leontes were looking at him in the same way. Soft. Gentle. Nervous. Was this love? Was this something that was permitted?

…did he care?

Polixenes took a deep breath, steeling himself as though he were about to do battle.

And then he leant forward.

#

The first indication that there was something wrong was the knives. Pure silver, burnished until they could be used as a sacred looking glass, and utterly impractical for everyday use, they had been a gift from Polixenes to his husband-and-wife-to-be upon their solemn vow to be joined as one and to never be parted.

Sat at the high table as the honoured guest of Sicilia’s second prince and the dearest friend of the second prince’s wife-to-be, a banquet celebrating their imminent marriage, Polixenes was aware of the jealous stares and envious whispers that followed permeated the halls. He had been aware of them since he had arrived as part of Hermione’s retinue and had immediately been elevated to his own lofty position instead of being banished to eat at a lower table as befitted a gentleman of his rank, that is to say the son of a family only very distantly related to the ruling family of Bohemia.

So when he felt the burning gaze upon the back of his neck from the servant in the corner of the dining hall, he thought that it was merely due to the common belief that he was an upstart looking to leach off the fame and prestige of his betters. It was nothing that he hadn’t dealt with before. 

But then Polixenes saw the knives. The knives that were his gift, that Leontes had immediately declared that he would use at every meal and that Hermione had promised, with an understanding smile, that no one would know were a gift from him so as to avoid _even more_ jealousy. The knives that were slowly turning black right in front of him.

The knives that had been used to cut choice pieces of venison from the haunch in front of Leontes.

Polixenes’ head snapped up. The servant… the servant was staring at the high table. He was attentive, watching every movement and especially the way that the king was stuffing food into his mouth, cheeks bulging as he laughed with one of his ministers.

It was expected that servants would take an interest in their masters. It could even be described as being an integral part of their job. And yet…

“My most noble cousins,” Polixenes said, standing abruptly and ignoring the dogs that came bounding toward him eager for a treat. “I must beg your indulgence, but I fear that I need to speak with you in private. I humbly beg your presence. Outside.”

Leontes frowned up at him and opened his mouth, no doubt to ask _why_ and _what was going on_ ; all good questions but not ones that Polixenes felt that he could answer, not when there was a prickling on the back of his neck and he could feel the panic moving through his veins.

“My dearest cousin Polixenes,” Hermione interjected, smiling demurely at him and with one hand, unseen by any but Polixenes, curled around Leontes’ wrist. Polixenes closed his eyes in relief; Hermione trusted him. Hermione knew that there was something wrong. Even in the face of his paranoia, Hermione was still there for him. “How good of you to have remembered! My lord Leontes, come! I ask that you trust me in this matter and that you allow myself and my cousin to show you your…surprise.”

Camillo, a junior advisor and new enough that he was sat further down the table from the king and crown prince, laughed at this. “Your highness,” he said, “take it from this venerable gentleman; when asked to meet in secluded- and dare I say romantic?- spot by a gentlewoman you should never refuse. And especially one who has taken the opportunity to arrange a chaperone for the event! Truly my lady Hermione, you are the epitome of grace and propriety.”

Somehow, Polixenes kept smiling through the further exchange of polite nothings as the three of them took their leave from the table. The walk from the hall to the gardens felt endless, but it couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes.

It was only when the noise of the banquet had faded that Polixenes allowed himself to take a deep, shuddering breath. He felt tense, on edge; a feeling that he was more used to while sparring. It was what he imagined he might feel were he ever so unlucky as to be part of a battle.

“Polixenes,” a soft voice spoke, and he could feel Hermione’s hand on his back. “What is the matter? Have you fallen ill?”

“I cannot explain it, nor justify it,” Polixenes said, proud of the way that his voice stayed steady, “but there is a something wrong. Something rotten. All I can offer as proof is my own intuition and-” he hesitated. “…the silver knives,” he finally murmured. “They were blackened. I know that it is no true indication that there is poison present, that they tend to blacken even in the presence of eggs or cabbage and remain pure and pristine when faced with some of the deadliest poisons. And yet…”

“My lord, my lady,” he said, turning to face them each in turn, grasping their hands tightly. “Please. I beg of you. Be careful. I cannot lose you-”

“And you won’t,” Leontes swore. “You say this is an attack, Polixenes? Then I believe you. I can see the trembling of your hands, the paleness of your face. Your instincts are impeccable; I will trust them.”

“And I will speak to the servants,” Hermione said.

Polixenes quashed an instinctive _no!_ , fists clenched. Hermione knew what she was doing. In Naples at her family home, it was well known that the young mistress was the one who held all the power, was the one to come to if there was a problem to solve, from unexpected food shortages to guests who were incapable of taking ‘no’ for an answer. Hermione had no doubt already identified several trustworthy and discrete servants in Sicilia.

Still.

“I believe that one of the servants might be involved,” Polixenes said. “Short, dark hair. In charge of serving the wine for the lower tables. I saw him staring at the high table several times during the evening, and while I know that professional curiosity is an integral part of the job, I can’t help but wonder.”

“I will ask Paulina to investigate,” Hermione said. “Any recent hires, anything suspicious at all and she will find it.”

“I know she will,” Polixenes said, somehow managing to drag up a small smile. “After all, she is your right-hand woman, is she not? In the meantime… I cannot claim that I possess any great culinary talents, but I would be more comfortable if you would allow me to cook for you until this matter is done with. However that happens.”

“A splendid idea,” Leontes said immediately. “And I pledge my help to you; my skills are also somewhat rustic, having been employed mainly on hunts, butt whatever I can do to help I will.”

“And I, of course,” Hermione said, “will help by not cooking at all, lest I bring about what we are so fervently trying to avoid.”

Leontes frowned. “My Hermione,” he said, “I would eat whatever you made, for anything that comes from your fair hands must be food fit for the gods themselves!”

Polixenes and Hermione burst out laughing, and if Polixenes’ laughter had more than an edge of hysteria to it no one was tactless enough to bring it up.

“I appreciate your fervour my lord,” Hermione said finally, “but for the sake of your stomach, and indeed your life, I will not cook.”

“My dear cousin once killed a dog,” Polixenes agreed, shaking his head sombrely in the manner of Brother Jonathan. “A most inauspicious beginning to her apprenticeship in the kitchens!”

“Slander, my lord! Lies!” Hermione cried.

“You deny having made a stew so foul that it could kill?”

“Oh, never. But I was not the one to feed it to the dogs; no, I believe that was _you_ Polixenes, and therefore that murder rests upon your hands. Alas, poor Yorick…”

#

Five weeks later the three of them were sick of venison, there was a traitor languishing in the dungeons, and Leontes was the new king of Sicilia.

(Polixenes closed his eyes and pushed back of the feeling of _too late._

Hermione tightened her hold on the palace, checking over and over again the loyalty of those sworn to her and to hers.

And Leontes endured. And took up a crown that he never wanted.)

#

His doublet was stiff and uncomfortable, the crown weighed heavily upon his head- both literally and metaphorically-, and the minister next to him _would not stop talking._

Five hours on grain yields. _Five. Hours._

Governing a country was not what Leontes had been raised for. He had been given a proper education of course, but he was only the second son. The intricacies of ruling a kingdom had never interested him and he had never been expected to learn them. Not when his brother…

His…

He regretted not paying more attention, now that he was being forced to cram years’ worth of lessons and training and diplomacy into a few short months.

Sometimes he stared out at the surrounding lords, at the foreign dignitaries, the sooth faced servants and wondered: _which one of you had done it?_ Which one of them had poisoned his family? Had murdered his parents? His older brother? Which one of them was the true viper, hiding its deadly fangs behind a placid façade?

The assassin had been found dead in his cell before he had revealed the name of his employer. Were there other accomplices in the castle?

There was a soft squeeze of his hand and Leontes realised with a start that he had been glaring at his minister of agriculture for the past few minutes. Said minster had- finally- stopped talking and was pale beneath his glare.

Was it a lie? Was he truly afraid? Or was this just a mask that he had donned, a veil over his true intentions? Had this man been the one to hire the assassin? 

Leontes knew what the rumours said. That the new king was haunted and paranoid. That the new king would not eat unless the meal was prepared by his own hands or the hands of someone that he trusted. A group that consisted solely of his new wife and her cousin. That courtiers and servants alike ran the risk of being dragged to the cells to be interrogated at any hint of suspicion.

That anyone could be next.

People feared him nowadays, and Leontes couldn’t bring himself to care.

He had Hermione and Polixenes. And they would never betray him and they would never abandon him. They were all he needed.

#

The church was quiet and serene. The pungent incense wound its way around the wooden pews, fleeing from the sudden draft that accompanied the open door.

“I thought that I’d find you here,” Hermione said.

Polixenes looked tired, the deep shadows beneath his skin and the pallor of his face painting a picture of innumerable sleepless nights and doubt-filled days. Still, he tried to smile when he saw her approach.

“Did you?” he replied. He didn’t say anything else. Just returned to his intent study of the alter. Of the painted Mary that sat there, a gentle smile on her lips as she gazed down at the bundle in her arms.

There was a letter in his hand, Hermione saw, crumpled and torn and slightly blackened at the edges.

Polixenes looked back at her, his smile turned wry and bitter, raw as a fresh scar. It looked wrong. It looked resigned. It was a look that Hermione had, since Leontes’ ascent to the throne, been catches glances of from the corner of her eye, on the bad days when it was quiet and solemn and they were all three of them blaming themselves for things not done and not noticed. She had never seen it in its entirety. And now she wished that she never had. That she possessed the power to turn back time and return to the Sicily of their childhoods. That they could cast off ill-fitting roles and concentrate on what pleased them instead of their myriad duties. 

Alas, she did not have that power.

So instead, she sat by Polixenes and laid a hand on his back. _I’m here_ , she did not say. _Whatever happens we will always be together_ , she could not say. Both of them knew that they had reached a turning point.

“I don’t suppose I need to tell you what is written in the letter?” Polixenes said. “I assume that your ‘friends’ have already informed you.”

Hermione did know. A battle at Varna. 15,000 men dead. Thousands more injured. Among them many noble sons of Bohemia, falling in battle as wheat fell before the scythe. The king and his sons included. It was said that Polixenes’ elder brother had defended his liege until his last breath. It hadn’t mattered. They had all died anyway. Leaving only one to inherit.

“Perhaps,” Hermione said. “And if it would be easier for me to already know, then we don’t have to talk about it-”, _yet_ she mentally added. “However, I think that it would do you good to tell someone-”

Polixenes gave a choked laugh. “Tell someone? What, that the Pope’s Holy Crusade to expel the Ottoman Empire has failed? I don’t believe that that is news to anyone. Neither Naples nor Sicilia can have failed to notice defeat after defeat that the Crusaders have encountered, nor the have the lords of this fair court failed to praise Leontes’ decision not to heed the Pope’s crusading bill-”

He fell silent. Took a shuddering breath.

“I don’t blame him,” he whispered. “I don’t blame Leontes for not sending soldiers, I don’t blame him for not leading them into battle because if he had… _if he had_ then I could have lost him as well.”

He gave a short laugh.

“And now I shall lose him anyway.”

“ _No_.” The word was torn from her throat, involuntary.

“Polixenes,” she said urgently, abandoning all propriety, “you shall never lose Leontes, and you shall never lose me. Do you understand?”

“Will I not?” Polixenes asked. “Not even when I am abandoning Leontes to a court that has already tried to kill him once? Not when I’m abandoning you to live in this foreign place when I once swore to you that we would never part?”

“You’re not abandoning us,” Hermione said, gentling her tone. “We know, more than any, that this is not your choice. You are bound by duty, as are we all.”

“I don’t want to be king,” Polixenes whispered, his eyes dropping. “I am married now; do you know that? Not just betrothed but married. I have been married to Elizabeth of Luxembourg by proxy, and I have never even met her. A month ago, I betrayed my oaths to you and Leontes and I didn’t even know.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hermione said, pulling him, unresisting, to rest against her, “neither of us blame you-”

“-and there must be children, for the good of the kingdom, but how can I when I don’t even know her-”

“-we still love you, we understand-”

“-I don’t know how to rule, it was never meant to be me-”

“-you are not alone, I swear to you-”

“How can you ever forgive me?” Polixenes whispered. “And how will I survive without you both by my side?”

“Easily,” Hermione says. “Easily, both. For the first point, there is nothing to forgive, this I swear upon my honour. As for the second… Perhaps it was not meant to be you, but you have been helping to rule Sicilia for the past year. All three of us had taken on the governing of Sicilia and we have done it well. You will rule Bohemia with equal grace and certitude. As for being alone… matters of state require long visits, do they not? Is not the role of a king to ensure healthy ties with their allies? And is Sicilia not an ally of Bohemia? Leave, my lord, and get your affairs in order. And when you are done, return. We will be waiting for you.”

#

Hermione was smiling again, laughing at whichever joke that Polixenes was sharing with her, both of their heads bent over a book. Dark hair intertwining with light, they looked as though they were made for each other.

Leontes shuddered, sinking more firmly into his shadowed corner. Hermione was smiling again, happy and healthy. Part of him rejoiced, the part that was the devoted husband, happy that his spouse, that both his spouses were content. Were better.

And yet…

And yet another part of him, that paranoid darkness that had lived inside his heart since his family’s death shrieked out at him: ‘ _they will leave you_ ’. Each soft smile, each peal of laughter… they hit him like a blow to the heart.

Polixenes and Hermione had known each other longer. They had chosen one another. Chosen each other in a way that they hadn’t chosen him.

Was there a hesitation when Polixenes brushed the hair back from his face? Did Hermione kiss him thinking of another? When Polixenes made yet another declaration about his duty to his kingdom, safely under his wife’s regency, was that because he couldn’t bear to remain here in Leontes’ domain? If given the chance, would Hermione flee to Bohemia?

Leontes knew that his fears were groundless, knew that his spouses were faithful, that they all loved each other.

But that… that was worse. They did all love each other, but did they Polixenes and Hermione love each other more?

Questions and accusations and guilt and fear swirled around his heart, darkening by the day.

Hermione was his wife.

_(But they had been betrothed as children; given the chance would Hermione truly choose him?)_

She had borne his son.

_(His son? Or Polixenes’ son? Did it matter? How could it not matter?)_

Polixenes was his husband.

_(Not in the eyes of God, only in the eyes of himself and Hermione, and was that truly enough to bind him here?)_

He had left his country for them.

_(Left his country, but did he not have to return every few months? Was he not planning a return trip at this very moment? And who knew if he would ever return?)_

The worst of it was he didn’t. know who he was more jealous of: Polixenes or Hermione.

#

When Polixenes heard what Leontes had done to _Hermione_ , to their son…

When he heard of how Leontes had betrayed their vows so thoroughly, Polixenes left. Abruptly, without warning. In a manner ill-befitting a king and a spouse.

He left and cut all ties to Sicilia, refused all letters, did not deign to meet or write to, or even _think_ of Sicilia or her King.

~~Or her queen.~~

He pushed them both out of his heart and held fast against the memories, both good and bad. Especially bad.

And sometimes, watching his son laugh and play in the sun… sometimes, he was even happy.

#

It ended thus:

Three friends sat in the corner of a banquet hall as they watched the revelry. Both Florizel and Perdita looked deliriously happy, peppering each other’s faces with soft kisses and whispering sweet nothings.

“Were we ever that happy?” Polixenes asked. “And were we ever that young?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “We were. And we can be again.”

She was still dressed in her statue’s raiment, clad in a pure white chiton with her arms bared and a gold circlet resting on her brow. If not for the laugh lines at her eyes, the rosy flush to her cheeks, the warmth of her body pressed against Leontes and Polixenes, she might have been confused for Pygmalion’s marble love. 

As it was, neither man had been able to leave her side too afraid that she was nothing but an elaborate dream.

“No apologies can ever be enough,” Leontes said, his voice bitter. Polixenes did not disagree with him- his mind was still too troubled and his heart still in the process of mending- but he did draw closer to the other man and took his hand with a soft squeeze. 

“Perhaps not,” Hermione said. “But my lords- we have already let our sorrows and our fears steal these past sixteen years from us. I do not wish to lose even more to Chronos’ cruel march.”

The three of them looked at each other. Felt the years and the joys and sorrows stretch between them.  
  
And then, with the sound of their children’s laughter and love ringing in their ears, they let them go.

“A new start,” Polixenes said.

“A blank state,” Hermione agreed.

And Leontes smiled.

“A bright future.”

**Author's Note:**

> -I had a working title for this story and it was 'alternate universe where's there's no homophobia lol'  
> -From Wikipedia about the Kingdoms of Naples and Sicily:  
> "Eventually, Alfonso of Aragon divided the two kingdoms during his rule. He gave the rule of Naples to his illegitimate son Ferdinand I of Naples, who ruled from 1458 to 1494, and the rest of the Crown of Aragon and Sicily to his brother John II of Aragon. From 1494 to 1503, successive kings of France Charles VIII and Louis XII, who were heirs of Angevins, tried to conquer Naples (see Italian Wars) but failed."
> 
> I decided that Hermione was going to be from a noble family from Naples because I needed a justification why her family didn't attack Leontes (and Sicily) after her death. In universe, people just assumed that her death was another casualty in the war between Naples and Sicily, and Naples couldn't retaliate as it wasn't powerful enough and didn't have as many established allies as Sicily. 
> 
> -Leontes and Polixenes became younger brothers (and in Polixines' case not even a member of the current ruling house) because I needed them to feel more free to act than if they knew that they were both going to become kings.  
> -Polixenes' family died during the Crusade of Varna of 1444 which was to check the Ottoman Empire's encroachment into Europe.  
> -Silver turns to black in the presence of sulphides, including arsenic sulphide, though it would not be as quick as portrayed in this story and was definitely not reliable as it would also turn black in the presence of entirely harmless foods that contained sulphides such as cabbage and eggs. Please forgive my twisting of science for the sake of the story!
> 
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
